


From London to Paris

by Ceciliaclodia



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-31
Updated: 2019-08-31
Packaged: 2020-10-04 00:20:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20461940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ceciliaclodia/pseuds/Ceciliaclodia





	From London to Paris

Francis used to express his worries towards certain lifestyle of Arthur Kirkland.

“Artie,” one day he said, hesitantly, “I somehow ... em, worry about you.”

“About what?”

It happened in the spring last year. Back then Arthur was lazing deeply in the sofa, with his two fingers sliding on the touch pad, making the website slide downside. He gave a casual glance at the website, and said, “Alfred’s boss must’ve had his head bumped. What, you said you ‘worry’ about me?”

Francis blinked his eyes. “Are you tweeting ... again?”

“What do you mean by ‘again’?” Arthur looked up sensitively and noticed the serious expressions on Francis’ face. He snapped the computer shut, “What, you mean I shouldn’t do that?”

“No, I don’t.” Francis said, “I never meant that. We both know tweets are significant...In the present international politics, yes they are.”

“Uh huh,” Arthur nodded, “So you are saying ...”

“I’d say,” Francis cleared his throat, “Today you’ve been staying in the cyberspace all the day.”

“Yes.” Arthur continued to nod, “This is my everyday life. You know -- it can hardly be isolated from the Internet, neither work nor recreation.”

“Well ...” Francis was stuck. He had a close observation on Arthur’s face and thought hard about whether the next subject might offend.

“You are,” he pointed out, “More and more in favor of surfing the Internet.”

The British gentleman stunned for a while. “Right,” Arthur shrugged. “Just a little dependent, I know.”

“It's not the real issue, Artie,” Francis said, “The problem is, your enthusiasm on outdoor activities has declined.”

“Both outdoor **_**_and_**_** indoor activities, Francis.” said Arthur, “I'm **_**_not_**_** so into sports.”

Actually he is **_**_rebel_**_**__ at__ sports, but he chose a euphemism.

Nice wording. Francis thought, though it should be “hate”.

“I saw your physical examination report the other day ...” said Francis, “I'm sorry, but I didn’t mean it. The report was open on your desk, and I happened to have a glance at it.”

Arthur did not care about this. He had put the report casually on the desk because he never minded it being seen by Francis -- who might know his health condition better than any British citizen.

“So?” he asked, tilting his head to beckon Francis continue.

“... Recently your body fat rate has increased a little, Artie. I suppose ...”

His words was interrupted. Arthur asked, squinting when he suddenly straightened up from the sofa:

“You think I’m fat?”

“No!” Francis quickly denied.

“Definitely yes.” said Arthur, “Immediate denial, without thinking -- your attitude tells the whole story. On the contrary, you do think I’m fat.” His green eyes gave a few sly winks, and Francis felt thin cold sweat coming out of the back of his neck.

“... Not really.” said Francis, “Seriously, you are slim.” And he looks in quite good shape.

“So do I think.” Arthur finally leaned back, “Correct answer. Congratulations.”

“Is there any reward?”

“Nope.” the British gentleman put his laptop aside, “Come on. What do you really want to say after beating about the bush?”

The blunt question was unexpected to Francis.

“I thought you wouldn’t ask.” he said, “I thought ...”

“I know about my health problem, Frankie.” said Arthur, “And I’m concerned about it myself. Therefore I hope you will propose some fair suggestions -- at least one, and better not be those bed exercises. I know what is it in your mind -- **_**_NO WAY_**_**.”

Francis who was rare intended to be serious yet gratuitously suspected: “...”

“It's not bed exercises.” Francis sighed, “Have you heard of **_**_Enduroman-Arch to Arc_**_**?”

Arthur: “...”

It is a classic in the world triathlon and a lifelong pursuit of many competitors. Enduroman-Arch to Arc, namely the London to Paris cross-sea triathlon race, starts at London's marble Arch, and ends at the Arc de Triomphe in Paris, covering 483 kilometers in total. The race required competitors to run 140km from the Marble Arch to the coast of Dover, then swim across the English Channel, disembark at Calais and cycle 291km to the Triumphal Arch in Paris. Few people in the world are able to finish the race independently. More people finish the distance in the form of relay, but even those who relay are few and far between.

“Not really, you? Do you mean it?” asked Arthur incredulously when they spoke on the phone that night, “Is that a common people stuff or **_**_not_**_**?”

“But we are not common people,” said Francis at the other end of the line, “And we don’t need to do it right now -- We will take targeted training for at least one year, also we may arrange more rest stops and supply points along the way ... And if we really can’t keep on it, we will be taken back at any time.”

“Back to ... where?” asked Arthur sharply.

Francis had a questionable pause for two seconds before he finally said, “Wherever you want to.”

They met each other more frequently in the following days. Though Arthur did not like sports, he enjoyed going jogging, riding, swimming and having special training on certain muscle clusters together with Francis. Francis was quite athletic himself. Arthur remembered that he had sport blood dating back to their very young age -- though it was difficult to judge by the way he looked like.

Francis’ appearance does make people forget he was once a two-handed sword harvester on the battlefield -- but Arthur never forgets.

Sometimes Arthur appreciate the infinite life of Country Personification -- so long that he can take a whole year or even decades to prepare for an agreement that might not be carried out. He even forgot the aim of running or riding every day. It seemed that exercises only provided him relief and relax, and there was always a person be there for him, ready to embrace his burst of mood and affection.

With subtle embarrassment Arthur had to admit that in this year they made love more frequently. Sometimes it was Arthur who took the initiative -- he blamed this to the large amount of hormones released during exercises.

“Gosh, you’ve been so hot recently that I can’t help doubting whether I’m in a dream.” said Francis with subtle grasp one day in the interval of their intimate contact.

Arthur looked up and grasped. “Can't you?” he dug his nails into the skin on Francis' waist, “**_**_Will_**_** you go on or not?”

“Oh, God -- certainly yes.” Francis kissed at his eyes and continued on what he had not finished.

A year flew by. In spring they were both occupied with plenty of work, including the disputation and negotiation about Arthur’s impending exiting from the European Union. In the summer, Arthur was deeply troubled that he scarcely had time to take exercises. The Enduroman activity was temporarily suspended, but Arthur remembered the agreement, as they had agreed so many times before -- it would be realized.

One the day when Theresa May left her office, Francis encountered a video spoof on the Internet. In the video “Theresa May” was singing in the car after leaving 10 Downing Street. She also required the driver to stop at the wheat field, and took off her suit while running barefoot into the field.

Francis wondered Arthur’s condition. Is he relieved, or even more anxious?

The next second he received a phone call from Arthur.

“How do you feel today?” asked Arthur, “Will you be there if I invite you to have an Enduroman-Arch to Arc tour with me right now?”

Francis paused.

“Oh, God.” he exhaled a long breath, “Yes, I will -- of course I will.”

They did not take part in the formal race, but only set private rest stops and supply points. Their aim was not for competition, and Country Personifications do not die, thus they treated this sport as if they were to go hiking -- they were well prepared for exhaustion, wound and pain, but no one thought about their life security.

“It’s been a long time since ... I watched London landscape so carefully last time.” said Arthur before they left London.

“Really?”

“Really. Quite a long time ... Working in the car while heading for the aeroport, then taking the plane ... to leave the place.” Arthur took a long breath, “Gosh, you're running too fast.”

“I know. I've slowed down.” said Francis, “Take out time -- There are about six ... miles from the next supply point. ”

“That's ****SO**** great ... I'm so hot.”

“Stop talking, Artie. Keep breathing well -- Or you will get ... abdominal pain.”

The long journey of running tend to kill one's spirit and will, but being together made things much easier. When they were having sports drink at one of the supply points, they looked at each other, and began to laugh.

“It's not like a competition at all.” said Arthur, “We are not doing Enduroman-Arch to Arc.”

“We are doing **_**_Bearoman_**_**-Arch to Arc.” said Francis, joking, “Like what you said -- it’s not a common people’s activity.”

“And who said we are not common people?”

“We are not common people, but we are still ordinary.” said Francis, “Let’s go on -- there are tens of miles left.”

“It is where the benefits lie to be a Country Personification,” said Arthur when they were at the last supply point of the running stage, “We only had one year’s training -- intermittent and informal training. And we are able to cover such a distance. I’m afraid it’s almost impossible for a common human.”

“It’s far more than a year,” said Francis, “It took over one thousand years to shape your body. Wars, economic crisis, and even bigger hit -- Speaking of this, Arthur, we are a little poorer than the common human beings.”

Hearing this, Arthur slightly rubbed Francis’ face with his fingers that are still dripping water due to a touch on the cold drink bottle.

“Let’s go,” he said, “To Dover.”

Standing on the White Cliffs of Dover, Arthur and Francis were looking down separately in their own coats.

“**_**_‘_**_****_**_On the French coast the light gleams and is gone._**_****_**_’_**_**” Francis read the verse, shrugging his shoulders, “It’s almost dawn.”

“Crossing the English Channel should be the easiest part,” said Arthur, “We’ve done this before. Do you remember in 1940 --”

“Oh, hold it, please.” said Francis sulkily, “That drift in the sea had nothing to do with nostalgia. Back then we were tired and hungry -- it was a nightmare. ”

“Sure it was.” Arthur nodded to show his approval, “Back then we swam from Calais to Dover, and right now we start here ... You’ve been prepared, I guess?”

“Yes, ”said Francis, “Perfectly prepared.”

The water temperature of the English Channel is no more than 16 degree centigrade, and just being in such water is a great test of willpower.

“Luckily it’s in summer now,” said Francis, “Or we would really suffer.”

His pale, nearly transparent skin took on a faint green, which made Arthur frown.

“Swim,” said Arthur, “So that we can arrive at Calais as early as possible -- I can’t wait to know what kind of bicycle you’ve prepared for me.”

“Road bicycles,” said Francis, “Or what do you expect ... God, it’s so cold.”

He tried to control the sound by his chattering teeth, “Hopefully ****He**** would cast mercy on us and warm the water -- even a half degree Fahrenheit will do.”

“You’d better pray that it doesn’t rain before we arrive Calais.” said Arthur sharply, but he had to stop to control the teeth chattering due to chills. “It’s on the ocean instead of artificial swimming pool ... It’s so cold, the bloody water.”

“Remember the reason we first crossed the Channel?” asked Francis.

“Oh yes,” answered Arthur, “We competed to decide who swam faster. Did we?”

“Yes, and I lost,” Francis smiled, “You were rather ... strong and intrepid back in that era.”

“You had just finished a war. I shouldn’t have competed with you,” said Arthur, “Now think about it -- Maybe I intended to drown you in the ocean when you were quite feeble.”

“But you didn’t.” said Francis.

“Of course I didn’t.” said Arthur, “Because it suddenly occurred to me that Country Personifications do not die -- A new France guy will appear the moment you die. I need not have found myself a new trouble, I thought.”

Francis did not answer. He paddled forward silently, seemed to be thinking something.

In the second half of the marine tour Arthur was in a poor spirit. He answered to Francis’ concerning glances:

“Damn it, I’m sleepy.” 

Francis reached out and took hold of his wrist, taking him a few meters forward.

“No, no, no. I can swim myself.” Arthur drew back his hand, “It is on the sea, the ocean -- Don’t take the risk.”

He stopped and yawned. “I really hope to ride on the bicycle as soon as possible -- at least it keeps me awake.”

“Stick to that.” said Francis, “We are not far from Calais.”

Arthur looked up in the direction he pointed. Ahead the lights of Calais flickered to greet them in the dense, brooding night mist.

“**_**_‘_**_****_**_On the French coast the light gleams and is gone..._**_****_**_’_**_**” he mumbled, “**_**_‘_**_****_**_Sweet is the night-air._**_****_**_’_**_**”

“Sure it is.” said Francis.

Someone had been waiting for them at the shore of Calais. When they dried themselves and changed clothes (Real competitors are not treated so well, after all this is a private journey of avatars of UK and France), Arthur took a bottle of sports drink to sip while looking at the two road bikes in front of him.

“The purple one is for me and the olive-green for you.” said Francis who came here, also holding a bottle of sports drink, “I chose the color myself. What do you think?”

“Not bad.” said Arthur. Sure they were, and Francis did have a good aesthetic.

It’s just that he rarely admit this.

“We’ve taken almost two days.” said Francis, “Are you sure you don’t need to contact with ...”

“No.” Arthur waved his almost-empty drink to a member of staff, took hold of the handlebar and effortlessly strode on the bicycle with his long legs. “Come on. I’d like to take a good look on the night view of your home before the dawn -- if you don’t mind.”

“’Cause I don’t mind,” said Francis. He picked up the drink bottle and took a few mouthfuls. The condensation drops flowed down his fingers and the back of his hand, and then dripped on his neck and clavicle. Arthur followed the drop for a moment before he realized that Francis had mounted his bicycle.

“Let's go.” Arthur ducked under Francis' eyes and shot out first, “This way.”

Francis froze behind him for several seconds.

“I **_**_know_**_** the way, do I?” he muttered, and hurried to catch up with Arthur.

“Oh my God.” groaned Arthur.

“What?” asked Francis.

“I feel ... pain in the bottom,” said Arthur with his teeth gritting, “I'm afraid of failing to walk properly when we arrive at the supply point.”

“Get used to it and it'll be fine,” said Francis, “I felt so too when I started to participate in the Tour de France.”

“You've taken part in that thing before?” asked Arthur.

“For several times, yes,” said Francis, “Usually if I do not have much work during that time, I'd go ... Well I cannot win the champion anyway.” He glanced at Arthur wryly, “It's funny that people from your family took up the number one place for many years. I'm really looking forward to who will win this year.”

Arthur kept riding on with a poker face.

“When your family celebrates a champion, they don't expect their country to give up after 50 kilometers because of a sore butt.” said Francis with a wicked smile.

“French people rarely wins the Tour de France -- Don't you want to reflect on it?” said Arthur. He stared at Francis and struggled with pain to lift himself from the seat for a moment. “I wonder when you're going to win a championship.”

“Perhaps this year the championship **_**_will_**_** belong to a French citizen,” said Francis with a soft snorting, “Let's see.”

“The city limits of Paris lie ahead,” said Francis, “If we are quick enough, we can have something to eat before the restaurants close.”

“Then I cannot wait for that.” Arthur sped up as told, “God knows I'm **_**_starving_**_**.”

“So do I know.” said Francis, “I heard your belly singing just now.”

“Are you sure that was not yours singing?” asked Arthur.

“Definitely, yes.” Francis answered calmly, “Mine sang the song **_**_before_**_** yours.”

“...”

However the terminator of the travel was not the Triumphal Arch -- They finaly took a detour to a 24-hour fast food restaurant.

“It is really not for common ones.” murmured Arthur,“I'm so hungry.”

“So am I.” said Francis. He had a glance at the time, “Seventy hours ... we've not been too slow.”

“There is little time left to be the whole three days.” Arthur chuckled, “No idea of how many messages are there in my mobile phone ... But never mind, that's not important.”

Francis looked up and asked, “What's important, then?”

“Whatever.” Arthur answered, “Anyway I'm feeling quite satisfied so that I even fail to mind the lack of delicacy of the hamburger.”

Francis opened his mouth but quickly swallowed his words wisely.

**_**_Who _**_**are you to say **_**_that_**_**?

“We are only three miles away from L'Arc de Triomphe.” he said, “How about finishing the tour after having this?”

“No problem.” said Arthur, “That adds to an extra two miles ... Yeah.”

“That's nothing.” said Francis, “Someone will meet us there at L'Arc de Triomphe to take us to ... um, is there any place you want to go?”

“Where else?” said Arthur lazily, “Your official residence in Paris -- let's go, it's already daylight.”

They took a photo together beneath the Triumphal Arch. They were too exhausted to make a face, and the days of running gave them signs of fatigue. Despite of the vicissitudes in the photo, they still managed to fulfill an aesthetic perception, thanks to the beauty of their original biological appearances.

Arthur saved the photo into his mobile phone, which he had just pushed back to factory settings due to the constantly vibrant of messages. Thus the photo became the only thing that had not belonged to it in its memory.

“How happy it is.” sighed Arthur, “I will look back on it for years.”

Hearing his mutter, Francis leaned forward and was gently kissed on the cheek.

Francis pressed Arthur's back of the head with a gentle but irresistible force. The touch moved to the lips, and then deepens -- standing beneath the Triumphal Arch, they had a deep kiss in the scent of roses with the smell of morning dew.

It was reverent and solemn. 


End file.
